A Firstborn Becomes a Sibling

[Author’s Note: I plan to eventually post a full account of Australis’s birth — and, in fact, that story is already in the works. However, since I have a predilection for writing extremely lengthy and overwrought birth stories, I wanted to post a shorter update to let everyone know the state of our growing little family. I’ll do my best to minimize the labor- and birth-related spoilers.]

My son Borealis met my daughter Australis just after noon on November 6th, and I was an emotional wreck about the whole affair. (See Kiss Mommy’s Belly and A Firstborn Prepares for a Sibling for some backstory here.) 

My mother was babysitting Bo at the time, so I called ahead to ask that she keep my rascally toddler calm (ish) on the couch while we brought in his baby sister. After we parked, Taylor retrieved the infant and carseat, while I rose shakily from my seat and walked slowly to our front door. 

We were greeted immediately by our dog, about whom we had completely forgotten. Our Pyrenees sniffed delicately at the carseat, then promptly returned to her bed. I could almost hear her thinking, Oh… another human baby. I remember when *I* was your only baby….

My father recorded our slow progress on his iPhone, and my mother held a wriggling Bo on her lap. I burst into ugly sobs when I caught sight of my son. I had seen him at bedtime the night before, but I felt as though it had been weeks since I had held him. He eyed me curiously as I reached for him and choked out, “Borealis, I missed you!” 

He almost never sees me cry, so he was [rightfully] a bit scared. Still, after I shuffled to the couch, Bo let my mother shift him to my lap. I squeezed him tight — even though he hates that — and then gestured to the infant carseat, which Taylor had positioned on his own lap. 

Bo was initially curious. After all, he recognized the carseat in which he used to ride. So, what was this strange bundle of pink inside of his old carseat? 

Through my tears, I managed, “Look! That’s your baby sister! That’s Australis!”

And then, the bundle of pink began to cry softly, and Bo realized that he was getting more than he had bargained for. He writhed in my grasp until he was facing my mother, not my daughter. 

“Give her a kiss!” Taylor suggested. Then, he immediately answered himself, “Yeah, right.” Bo, after all, was now pulling out of my grasp so that he could get farther away from the carseat. 

As my son climbed back into my mother’s lap, she asked him, “Can you give her kisses on her feet?” Once again, Bo ignored the prompt. 

A heavy feeling in my gut told me that Borealis would not be changing his mind anytime soon, but I still wanted to try again. Bo leaned forward to watch me remove Australis from her car seat, then pushed back into my mother’s lap. I held my daughter to my chest and whispered, “Hi, sweet girl,” before offering her again to her brother. “Give her a kiss!”

No kiss was immediately forthcoming. Bo leaned forward to eye his sister intently for a second, then quickly pulled back out of reach. 

Despite Bo’s obvious reluctance, Taylor reiterated the command. “Give her a kiss! That’s your sister!”

Bo glanced at the tiny baby in my arms, then turned his face away so that he couldn’t see her. 

Trying one last time, I said, “Give her a kiss!” 

This, alas, was too much pressure for Bo. He gently — but firmly — pushed his sister away and moved to my husband’s now-empty lap. “Good enough,” my husband conceded, while my mother admonished, “Gentle! Gentle!” 

I finally relinquished my hope for a warm familial meeting. We ended up physically and emotionally separated — me, holding Australis, and my husband, holding Borealis. I knew that things could eventually change, but the current situation was not promising. 

“I’ll take him for a walk outside,” my mother offered. Even though her idea was a good one, it still broke my heart a little bit. What was the state of my family if the solution to our emotional disunity was some additional physical distance?

My father had to leave Golden shortly thereafter to return to work, but luckily, my mother would be sticking around for another day to assist in our transition to being parents of two. 

Both Taylor and I were exhausted from the events of the preceding day, so we were quick to yield to my mother’s suggestion that we nap. (Australis graciously agreed to nap as well.) Soon after my mother and son returned from their walk, it was time for Bo to take his own nap. By the time he woke up, Taylor and I felt up for another attempt at being a family of four. 

Unfortunately, our firstborn didn’t feel the same way. Instead, Borealis treated his new baby sister in the same way that he treats anything that makes him nervous: he very obviously and very carefully ignored her. I think that, in his little toddler mind, my son was convinced that he was playing it cool — but, he wasn’t. Bo was visibly upset, and I think he was the only one who didn’t realize that fact. 

My mother, Taylor, and I all made a very concerted effort to give Bo extra special attention. He mostly accepted these overtures from the former two; my attempts, however, he utterly scorned. This treatment really stung. I had desperately missed my son, and now, here he was, dutifully pretending I didn’t exist. It seemed as though my fears had been well-founded, and Borealis saw his sister’s birth as an act of betrayal on my part. 

The next day — Thursday — passed in much the same way. Borealis continued to side-eye Australis and me, while crankily demanding as much attention as he could get from Taylor and my mother. Our repeated suggestions to “say hi to your baby sister!” or “give Australis a kiss!” fell on deaf and/or angry ears, and Bo diligently avoided any contact with his usurping little sibling. My mother returned to Colorado Springs that night, Taylor and I went to bed quite disheartened at the disunity within our little family. 

But, as things are prone to do, our situation changed — literally — overnight. The following morning, after retrieving Bo from his room, Taylor commanded, “Give Mommy a kiss!” 

My son eyed his sister warily, then leaned forward to brush my forehead. Then, Taylor said, “Now give your baby sister a kiss!” 

Bo balked at this order. He cautiously regarded Australis, then me. I gestured invitingly at his sleeping sibling and repeated the suggestion. “Kiss Australis!” 

Bo slowly leaned down from his perch in Taylor’s arms and almost — but not quite — connected with his baby sister’s face. Still, it was a better showing than anything else we had seen so far. Bo grinned and applauded himself as we effusively praised his bravery and thoughtfulness. 

Finally, Bo’s dam of fear had broken, and now, he was bursting with interest. The rest of the day, he hovered close — but not too close — to his sister. 

At one point, after noticing that I had discarded Australis’s crocheted blanket, my son hurriedly retrieved the blanket and used it to aggressively smother his sister — I mean, he used it to keep her warm. (Great motivation; poor execution. It’s the thought that counts, right?) Again, I effusively praised Bo’s effort. He obligingly smiled and clapped for himself, and I subtly shifted the blanket off of my daughter’s face. (I figured we could work on technique later.) Finally, Borealis was warming to his role as a big brother. 

Since the next day was Saturday, we had double company. Not only were we joined by my mother and sister, but we also got to host Taylor’s younger brother, who had moved out this past September.

Before the hustle and bustle of the day began, however, Taylor once again asked Bo to give his baby sister a kiss — and this time, Bo gently pressed his lips to Australis’s face. (His exact target appeared to be her nose, not her lips. But again, it’s the thought that counts, right?) Taylor and I nearly teared up with pride (and with a little bit of exhaustion, too). 

Once my mother and sister arrived, there was much less opportunity for interaction between my two kids. For most of the day, Bo played with my mother while Taylor and his brother did “man stuff” (i.e. divesting our garage of some of its built-up junk). Meanwhile, the newborn and I mostly just rested. She may not have felt guilty about being “lazy”, but I certainly did. 

Our visitors departed around the start of Bo’s nap, so when our little man woke up, the job of toddler entertainment fell solely to Taylor and me — well, mostly Taylor, because I was still weak and sore. While Australis and I sat on the couch, my husband got out Bo’s favorite toy — a piggy bank of pennies — and proceeded to dump them out on the carpet. 

[Note: I’m embarrassed even admitting that I let my son play with coins — since they’re, you know, choking hazards. My excuse/explanation here is that Bo is incredibly good about not choking. Borealis is as likely to hug a stranger as he is to even put a penny in his mouth — let alone choke on it. Not impossible, but very improbable.]

As I watched my son and husband feed the pennies back into the piggy bank, I realized that maybe this was the unified family time for which I had been hoping. I spread Australis’s blanket out a few feet from the pennies and laid her down, then sat beside her.

Boom — unified family time! 

(Just kidding. It wasn’t quite that easy.) 

Borealis continued to mostly ignore his sister for a few minutes. I say “mostly” because he kept shooting glances at her, as though he was trying to ensure that she wasn’t about to sneak up on him. (Spoiler alert: She wasn’t.)

Eventually, Bo’s curiosity led him to abandon his pennies. He crept closer to the blanket until he was squatting about a foot away from the baby. Slowly, he extended an arm, pointed to her, and announced, “Dah-ee!” 

From an outsider’s perspective, Bo’s declaration was not compelling. “Dah-ee” sounds an awful lot like “die”, which is not exactly the sentiment that I would like my son to hold toward his new sister. However, since I’m *not* an outsider, I interpreted Bo’s pronouncement as a move in the right direction. 

If you’ve read “D” as in “Rabbit”, you may recall that, this summer, Bo’s word for birds and bunnies was “dee”. In the intervening months, that word has somehow morphed into “dah-ee”, and its meaning has swelled to include dogs, cats, and squirrels (among other furry creatures). This has led to numerous scenarios in which Bo has spotted a dog-walker, pointed at them, and seemingly yelled, “Die, die, die!” while grinning maniacally. Just another way in which he helps my street cred. 

Anyway — back to the matter at hand. Bo’s apparent identification of his sister as a small, furry creature suggested that we could expect his treatment of her to be well-meaning, albeit occasionally too aggressive. (For an example, reference the ending of “D” as in “Rabbit”.) 

Sure enough, Bo’s interest seemed to have warmed considerably, if his smile was any indication.

Apparently making up his mind, Bo leaned forward with arm still extended and slowly poked my daughter right in her ear canal. 

“Dah-ee!”

(Again, it’s the thought that counts, right?)

Taylor and I burst into laughter. Somehow, I never imagined that the most interesting part of a newborn might be her ear.

Still giggling, I affirmed, “Yes, that’s her ear! Now, can you touch her hands?” 

Bo looked at me thoughtfully, then placed his index finger… back in his sister’s ear. 

“No, baby, that’s still her ear. Can you touch her belly?” 

Ear. 

“Toes?”

Ear. 

“Hand?” 

Ear. 

It was a start, at least. 

---

Truly, the difference between the Bo that “welcomed” his sister home and the Bo that we have now cannot be overstated. The former was skittish, anxious, and betrayed. The latter is sweet, happy, and affectionate. We are seeing a side of our son that, frankly, I didn’t even know existed. 

Over the next several days, Bo’s displays of affection continued to increase in frequency and variety. We eventually taught him to touch his sister’s hands — although, given the chance, he still goes straight for her ear.

[Note: Problematically, Bo’s thumb often pokes Australis in the eye as his index finger touches her ear. Ah, well. It’s a work in progress.]

We have also seen our son become an enthusiastic — albeit untalented — kisser. (Most of his smooches land somewhere around my daughter’s nose or eyes.) 

Each morning, Bo agitates until Taylor lifts him up to kiss Australis good morning. Each evening, I fend off Bo’s affection while his sister tries to nap. And in between, he finds her in the bassinet and touches her ears and hands until Taylor or I stop him. 

Bo is far more affectionate with Australis than he has ever been with Taylor or me. Seriously. This is the kid that screams when we ask if he would like to snuggle. He seemingly inherited the aversion to touch characteristic of most engineers — but somehow, that aversion doesn’t apply to Australis. Borealis, my monster toddler, is a perfect gentleman with his sister… although, he does need to stop poking her in the eye. 

It may seem ridiculous to look forward so far into the future, but I can’t help but hope that Borealis and Australis will remain close. I picture him giving her a kiss on the cheek as we send her off to Prom, or as she graduates from high school, or — one day — as she prepares to walk down the aisle. 

Will they fight? Absolutely. He’ll pretend to smear boogers on her (or maybe he’ll *actually* smear boogers on her), and she’ll put lipstick on his action figures. She’ll develop crushes on his friends, and he’ll pull pranks during her sleepovers. But, ultimately, I’m hoping that the affection that I see today — the unadulterated love of a twenty-one-month-old for his newborn sister — will be the foundation of their relationship, forever.